


One, Two, Three and Four

by Shaun Saxum (can_u_count_bees)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AO3 Tags - Freeform, Afterlife, Aftermath of Violence, Alcoholic Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angry Wilbur Soot, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Betaed, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Coming to Terms with Death, Dead Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Mexican Dream, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, During Canon, Everyone is Dead, Gen, Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot Angst, Healing, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Mexican Dream is here too - Freeform, No Romance, No Smut, Not A Fix-It, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Drug Use, Past Lives, Past Violence, Psychological Trauma, Sad Wilbur Soot, Sheep Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Sorry Not Sorry, Tags Are Fun, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Therapy, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Video: TOMMYINNIT IS DEAD - CRAB RAVE - [DREAM SMP], Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Worldbuilding, afterlife is just one big therapy office, cause i love doing that, everyone here has some sort of trauma, ghostinnit, giving that dude a backstory :00, phantommy, so much of it, they are all dead lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/can_u_count_bees/pseuds/Shaun%20Saxum
Summary: Black, white, and grey. These colors had come to represent the entirety of the world for the unusual duo of failed presidents. Jschlatt and Wilbur Soot sat in the sand next to the ocean, backs against the cliff face behind them, staring out into the sea with vacant, pupil-less eyes and neutral faces. Schlatt, wearing his suit and tie loosely, sipped from his bottle of liquor as he looked over the ocean. Wilbur, whose beanie was slipping off the top of his head, sang Jubilee Line, the opening of your city gave me asthma, with as much emotion as he could dredge up from his static heart. His familiar trench coat, covered in an almost opaque layer of ash, sat motionless on his shoulders, hanging lifelessly like its wearer. Another day in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or, as Schlatt suggested, the Afterlife. The mood would shift when a new arrival began to approach."One, Two, Three and Four" is a story about the life of the deceased on the Dream SMP, the world they inhabit, and the arrival of a tragic old friend to this world. The psychology of the four inhabitants of the Afterlife will be explored more in later chapters as the friends learn to cope with the loss of their own lives together in a bitter-sweet story.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbut Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	1. Saline Solution

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I got so inspired by a child being beaten to death with a raw potato. Please enjoy, the Afterlife is an idea I randomly had that I believe shifts the concept of the Dream SMP in an interesting way. This story will be sad, just to warn you. I truly hope you enjoy. The anime Death Parade and the manhua About Death both really inspired me to look deeper into the psychology of dealing with your own death, and the recent events on the Dream SMP inspired me to use those characters to do a little exploration myself.
> 
> Edit due to the March 4th 2021 TommyInnit stream: This is an AU where Tommy doesn't get revived now lmao.
> 
> Edit again: If you enjoy this, leave me a comment and tell me, it honestly means a ton to see comments :> Also you should come hang with me on Twitch sometime I stream fairly often! https://www.twitch.tv/shaunsaxum

_One, two, three and four._

Black, white, and grey. These colors had come to represent the entirety of the world for the unusual duo of failed presidents. Jschlatt and Wilbur Soot sat in the sand next to the ocean, their backs against the cliff face behind them, staring out into the sea with vacant, pupilless eyes and neutral faces. Schlatt, wearing his suit and tie loosely, sipped from his half-empty bottle of whiskey as he looked out over the ocean. Wilbur, whose beanie was slowly slipping off the top of his head, sang _Jubilee Line_ , the opening of _your city gave me asthma,_ with as much emotion as he could dredge up from his static heart _._ His familiar trench coat, covered in an almost opaque layer of ash, sat motionless on his shoulders, hanging lifelessly like its wearer. Another day in Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or, as Schlatt suggested, the Afterlife. 

The dull and uncharacteristic name matched the Afterlife perfectly. It resembled the Overworld in every way, even following the same flow of time. The Afterlife changed as the Overworld did, every new building being built and every explosion being detonated happening in real-time. Hardly any color existed in this world - the scenery was made up of almost purely shades of black, white, and grey (though black was a rare one). The only other colors to be found came from the Afterlife’s residents and their clothing, not that it made much of a difference at that moment, since the only really colorful bit worn between the two of them was Schlatt’s bright red tie. However, bits of vibrant color could occasionally be seen on the avatars of those still alive in the Overworld. 

The avatars, as Wilbur had taken to calling them, were represented by fuzzy, white, humanoid figures, vaguely resembling whoever the avatar was meant to represent in the living world. Their clothes were all greyed out, but their wardrobes still varied enough for the deceased to tell the difference between them. Jack Manifold could easily be spotted by the headset around his neck, Fundy by his ears, Technoblade by his crown, George by his glasses, Dream by his mask, Tommy by his scarf - everyone had something. It was a common pastime for the departed to follow them around, trying to guess what they were talking about, why they were doing the things they were doing, who the newcomers to the server could possibly be. However, once the avatars went anywhere Schlatt and Wilbur hadn’t gone in their waking life, they were forced to stop following. 

For reasons unknown to both of them, Wilbur and Schlatt were physically unable to enter areas in the Afterlife that they hadn’t visited in the Overworld, buildings included. For Wilbur, he never got to see what happened to Tommy when he walked off with Dream that day, never discovered why he had snuck around L’Manburg with Technoblade, never understood why he had walked into that prison Dream was taken into and never came out of. Schlatt was significantly less bothered by not getting to see what was going on with certain people, as he tended to focus less on one individual and instead jumped around to survey multiple. Most often, he followed his former secretary, Quackity, the spy, Tubbo, and the furry, Fundy. It was interesting watching them run their government, even if he only had visuals to go off of. The two often exchanged info on what they saw to attempt to keep a coherent idea of the Overworld’s events, but their timeline could only ever be vague and confusing. 

Interestingly enough, whenever anybody felt emotion in the Overworld, a slight tint would cover their avatar. A mix of blue and yellow covered Fundy as he hung out with the new beanie-capped individual that the dead duo failed to recognize, pale red and black mixed on Tubbo as he talked to Tommy after the cabinet meeting with Dream, and yellow had shown through Philza and Technoblade as they destroyed L’Manburg for the final time. 

However, the color of bright red only appeared when someone was in pain - physical or emotional. It originated from wherever the pain was dealt, such as when Technoblade had assaulted multiple people in the Community House, red appeared everywhere he inserted his axe or sword. But when it was emotional, it flowed throughout the entirety of the avatar. When Tommy walked away with Dream on that day so long ago, his body was coated with red, as was Tubbo’s and most of the others there. Wilbur and Schlatt had watched with shared dread, confused and worried about the colors. Curiously, Dream’s body never showed any of these colors. He was always white. Even while dropping bombs on L’Manburg and when he was being escorted into the prison, he was just white. 

Within this strange Afterlife, Wilbur and Schlatt held off the slow crawl of insanity with their strange quirks and hobbies. The deceased still had to sleep for some reason, and everytime they woke up everything on their bodies was restored to the same state it had been in when they died. Schlatt could fling his suit into the ocean, but the next day, he’d wake up with it on, still unbuttoned and wrinkly. Wilbur could smoke every cigar in the pack he happened to have in his pocket when Philza stabbed him, and the next day, they’d all be back, good as new. The sensation of smoking was pleasant to him. Even if it didn’t actually have any calming effect from the chemicals, the action still triggered a Pavlovian response, one which he built up after being exiled from Manberg by the goat-hybrid that was now the closest thing he had to a friend. 

Similarly, Schlatt drank the half-bottle of booze he had died with every day. The bitter taste and the burning sensation in his throat had both disappeared after his death, being replaced with a bittersweet emotion whenever he downed it. His alcoholism faded the moment he died, and he had, luckily, experienced no symptoms of withdrawal. However, he was still haunted by all the blank memories in his head, all the moments that he had drowned out. Wilbur could sit around and reminisce all he wanted. Schlatt lacked that luxury, though Wilbur seemed to think of it more as a curse. 

At that point in time, Schlatt was finishing up the last of his booze for the day, and Wilbur had jumped up in passion as he sang with all the angst he could muster, 

“THERE’S A REASON, THAT LONDON PUTS BARRIERS ON THE TUBE LINE-” 

Only for his singing to be interrupted by a sizable sea-shell soaring past his head. They both had the ability to interact with objects in the environment, but only insignificant ones like shells, sand, and dirt. Wilbur tilted his head to dodge the shell with only slight surprise on his face, the shell gliding past him and landing silently in the sand. 

“Would you shut the hell up? I’m tryna watch the sunset in peace!” 

“Ah shut up, it's just a big white ball anyways, what’s so beautiful about that?!” 

“It’s way more beautiful than you shouting about women!” 

“What, you jealous, ya nasty fuckin’ capitalist?” 

“Can’t you go eat sand or some dumb shit?” 

“Don’t insult my dietary habits!” 

“You can’t even taste it and yet you’re always sitting there with your mouth full of it!” 

“It’s fucking crunchy, it calms my nerves!” Wilbur kicks a cloud of sand on the former tyrant, who immediately stood up in shock. 

“You like crunchy?! This glass bottle is pretty god damn crunchy, why don’t you try it?!” Schlatt matches Wilbur’s kick, though significantly more violent, and yet the sand fails to get anywhere near his head. 

“Go get your horns caught in a combine harvester!” 

The two locked eyes for a moment, both burning with rage, and after a moment of silence, they broke into laughter. These arguments had become common for them, and although some may have been serious at the beginning, they had become a sort of pastime. After all, laughter is the best medicine for those going insane from boredom, and true anger is hard to muster up after a while in the Afterlife. 

Wilbur reached into one of the lower pockets of his trench coat and took out his packet of cigarettes, simultaneously sliding one out and handing it to the goat-hybrid. He had started using them after losing the presidency to calm his nerves. Schlatt took it, and Wilbur lit it with a match, also lighting one for himself. The two both sat back down in silence as they watched the tide, smoke drifting into the air and blending into the monochrome landscape around them. 

“You know, I actually like _Jubilee Line_ , though _Saline Solution_ is my favorite,” Schlatt said, gently breaking the silence. 

“Thank you, Schlatt. Why _Saline Solution_?” 

“I just like the guitar part.” 

That was a lie, though Schlatt wasn’t interested in pouring his emotions out to the English boy. In truth, _Saline Solution_ reminded him of his alcoholism to an almost scary extent. Every day, he woke up and felt like he was dying from his hangovers, the alarm clock blaring in his mind like a death sentence. The ending of the song reminded him of the ending of his own life. It rises, gets louder and more climatic, and then ends slowly and drawn out. As he laid on that trailer floor, a saline solution to all his problems didn’t sound that bad. Hearing the song gave him a bittersweet reminder of how he used to be. Though the guitar was good too. 

“I like the guitar part on that one too, though I hate both of the songs.” 

The two chuckled, shifting their legs to more comfortable positions in the sand. 

“Why don’t you write something new?”  
  
“I haven’t really been able to get any motivation since I, y’know, died.” 

All the time Wilbur had spent sitting on that beach with his guitar and desperation for inspiration had amounted to nothing. Everything he tried to write felt grey, like the sand beneath his feet and the sky hanging oppressively over him. The closest he got to a new song was replacing “Panadol” with “alcohol” in _Saline Solution_ to reflect Schlatt’s condition, which was kind of funny the first time, but only sad every other time. 

“That’s a shame.” 

The silence returned for a while, and the sun began to set in front of them. Although the grey shades provided less beauty than a normal Overworld sunset, there was still something enjoyable about it to the two of them. It made the overworld sunsets of their memories more brilliant in comparison. After a while, a small wave lapped up onto the shore, and a small black and white cat crawled out of the ocean, multiple bruises covering its body. Both of them frowned as it tentatively examined its surroundings. 

The English boy spoke first. “Did Sapnap get bored again?” 

“God, I hope not. Remember the dogs?” 

“I’ll never forget the fucking dogs.” 

The two shivered and got a distant look in their eyes. Whenever an animal is killed in the Overworld, it appears in the Afterlife through the ocean, same as people. Naturally, the day that Techno and Dream attacked L’Manburg, Sapnap’s dog killing spree led the late pair to experience a flood of new friends, and it just so happened to be while they were both sitting on the beach. 

  
“I can still feel the slobber,” Schlatt muttered, shaking off the shiver. 

Wilbur laughed lightly. “Let’s just hope this is the only visitor we have today.” 

The cat crawled over to Wilbur cautiously, its tail drooping, staring up at the musician. Wilbur crossed his legs, letting the cat rub up against his thigh. He placed his guitar to the side and began to pet the cat, smiling. The goat-hybrid smiled slightly as well. 

“Oh, Schlatt, have you heard from Mexican Dream recently?” 

The third, usually forgotten late SMP member, Mexican Dream, had in fact come to the Afterlife after a while, quickly befriending the others. His comparatively lively spirit, though diminished by his sudden death, was refreshing in the drab place. 

“I saw him hanging around yesterday. Not sure where he is now.” 

Wilbur accepted this with a slight nod. When Mexican Dream first came, it took him a few days to accept his death, with Wilbur and Schlatt attempting to console him. He explained the recent events to the other two as best he could, especially Tommy’s abuse in exile, the formation of a new government, and the existence of the strange being known as Ghostbur, as well as many other pieces of information about the people in the SMP he had been talking to. Hearing of Dream’s treatment of Tommy made Wilbur clench his fists until his knuckles were white. Schlatt could’ve sworn his bones would pop right out of his skin. He felt bad for the kid too, but he didn’t have much room to speak. 

After their first meeting, Mexican Dream traveled to the exile location and stayed there for a while. His mask hid his emotions from Schlatt and Wilbur, but they could tell that he was in serious pain. The former drug dealer eventually came back and began to hang out with them occasionally, but he tended to disappear for long amounts of time, likely visiting the remains of Logstedshire. 

Schlatt eventually stood up, brushing sand off his pants. “I’m going to go check on the dogs or something.” He flicked his cigar into the ocean, letting the tide pull it out, and began to walk off. 

“Have fun,” Wilbur said as the cat climbed onto his lap. He scratched it under its chin, enjoying the friendship of the feline. 

As Schlatt began to walk off, a sudden wave of indescribable emotion panged both of them, making their insides churn like the ocean itself. It's a familiar emotion to them, one that Schlatt felt when Wilbur was about to wash up on shore, and one that Wilbur and Schlatt both felt when Mexican Dream was nearby. Both of them silently turned towards the ocean, tension and despair in the air, thoughts racing about who it could be this time. The gloomy atmosphere had shifted to one of fear. 

The dread was palpable as it hung in the air, each of the deceased’s minds uncontrollably rushing to deduce who it might be. Maybe Quackity and Tubbo lost their last lives at the hands of Techno, looking for revenge after his failed execution. Maybe Dream got executed inside the prison. Maybe Mamacita was caught in the middle of a gang war. No outcome was good for any of them. That wave would bring only sorrow, either through an annoying new member to the group or a showing of terrible tragedy. 

A wave started to grow, dragging a lump along with it. Everything got darker - nighttime had finally hit. The sky was a drab shade of dark grey, but the light hadn’t faded that much yet. Schlatt turned back around and got a bit closer, attempting to make out the identity of the shape in the distance. He was less frozen by his thoughts than Wilbur was, who sat completely still, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He looked as though he was shivering, even though you can’t feel temperature in the Afterlife. The smoke from his cigarette twisted in the air in front of him, floating up and becoming one with the gray horizon. 

After what felt like days, the wave reached the shore and deposited its delivery, somehow remaining completely dry even after being submerged in the water. The body belonged to a six-foot teenager, wearing a white t-shirt with short red sleeves, looking as though it had only recently been patched up. Blood streaked past his pupil-less eyes, coming from a spot on his messy blonde hair. Purple bruises covered his face and body, none being hidden by the pale blue scarf around his neck which had soaked up a good amount of blood. TommyInnit laid in the sand, eyes open, his mouth slightly agape in disbelief, an expression that was quickly matched by Wilbur and Schlatt. Wilbur dropped his cigarette and Schlatt dropped his empty bottle. Both items hit the sand silently. 

After a moment, the cat meowed at the teenager, and Tommy forced his head to tilt up, shaking with the effort. His expression was remorseful. He scanned his surroundings as much as he could manage, then forced a sad smile when he met the shocked gaze of his older brother. 

“Sorry, Wil,” he forced out, his voice choked by pain and grief. 

“Tommy, Tommy, no, you’re joking.” Wilbur crawled over to his brother as fast as he could, tears falling into the sand. Schlatt raised a hand to his head and put it into his palm, sighing quietly to himself. 

Tommy attempted to say something else, but his mouth was held shut by exhaustion, and his eyes soon fell shut as well. His head hit the sand, silent, just like the bottle and the cigarette. Wilbur stared at his pale cheeks, barely able to see them through his blurry vision. The fact that his brother had just come to the Afterlife was unacceptable, he had so much life before him, so many friends that cared about him. And yet, there he laid, peaceful and silent. Wilbur kneeled and raised his brother up, cradling him in his arms. 

“No, no, no…” 

_One, two, three and four._


	2. Roadtrip (Minichapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in the prison...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a quick mini-chapter to establish why Tommy, in my alternate universe, doesn't come back to life. Enjoy, more Afterlife stuff is coming soon.
> 
> Also, if you like Dream SMP fanfiction, check this out: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29538294/chapters/72583116 It's an extremely good fanfiction written by my friend.

The obsidian of the prison was actually pretty warm. 

The lava acted as a heater of sorts, warming up the black substance to make it much more comfortable to sleep on then one would normally assume. At first, it was actually too hot, and Dream spent a fair amount of time sitting on the crafting table, but eventually, he got used to it and it started to feel nice. 

There were ways to entertain yourself in the prison. Dream often wrote things, making up writing prompts involving people on the server, journaling his time in prison, planning hypothetical escapes, sometimes predicting his visitors, and various other ideas to stave off boredom. He once tried to write something in a stream-of-consciousness style. He looked at what he wrote afterwards and immediately threw the book in the lava. No need for anyone to see that. 

The potatoes were probably the worst part. He got tired of them on day one, and a few times, he “rebelled” by throwing them against the wall. He quickly realized the results of his action were that he would be hungry for some time, as Sam was not willing to replace the ruined potatoes, and also that there would be potato mush all over the wall, so he cleaned it up the best he could and ceased his rebellion. His method for cleaning is better left unrecorded. He did discover, after a bit, that he could put the potatoes by the lava wall and bake them a bit, which was a nice change of pace. 

When Tommy came to visit Dream, he was, at first, ecstatic. Any visitor was good, and he and Tommy had so much to talk about! 

His enthusiasm increased tenfold when Tommy got stuck in there with him. 

Finally, some company! It was so lonely in that obsidian prison. They would have so much fun together! That was his first thought. He was wrong. Tommy was so, so, so incredibly annoying. He wouldn’t stop singing the song Dream wrote in one of the books in the most annoying voices he could manage, wouldn’t shut up about wanting to leave, kept shouting for Sam to let him out. Dream couldn’t decide if he preferred this or being alone. The cat was nice though. Sam dropped it in one day with the potatoes, saying it was for Tommy. Dream enjoyed having another friend with him, even if it would be gone when Tommy was. 

When Tommy beat the cat to death, Dream was extremely surprised. It was depressing to see the feline friend so mercilessly beaten into the ground. Tommy actually terrified him for a second. His fear, anger, and depression mixed inside of him to give him a very strong desire to make Tommy feel the same way as the cat. And so, he did, knowing full well that he would be able to revive Tommy soon enough. A few days of death would be good for the kid. Teach him a lesson and stuff. 

And now, there he was, sitting in front of Tommy’s cold, dead body, desperately repeating the chants from the book, doing everything he could to follow its instructions, and yet, Tommy’s heart refused to start. The smell of Tommy’s blood on the wall, on his hands and clothing, overwhelmed Dream’s senses. His emotions ran wild. Grief, rage, regret, hate, love, fuck, fuck, fuck! He was supposed to be alive, the revival thing was supposed to have worked by now, Dream had followed the book just as it was fucking written! He was omnipotent, a god, with the power of life and death in his hands, and yet, here he sat, his only friend killed by his own useless hands. Why isn’t it working? Why is he still dead? Why does Dream feel so dead? Why did Dream kill him? Why? Why? Why?! WHY?! 

The obsidian was cold. 

_People change like the tide in the ocean…_


End file.
